Together
by Eienvine
Summary: When Matthew proposed to Mary, he was offering her a certain sort of life. But what if Patrick Gordon's return changed that life? One-shot, post-S2.


I've been wondering for a while now why they even brought up the P. Gordon storyline if they were just going to drop it again so quickly. So this is my prediction of how it might come back into play in season 3.

. . . . . .

The sun-dappled library of Downton Abbey was still and quiet, not because the room was empty, but because for once the entire Crawley clan had been struck silent.

Finally Cora found her voice. "Are they certain, Robert?"

Lord Grantham glanced back down at the letter in his hand. "Not certain, my dear, but this new information does come closer to certainty than anything we've had thus far. The family physician examined him and swears under oath that this Patrick Gordon has significant medical similarities to Patrick Crawley: a bone spur, a badly healed collarbone break, two of the same teeth pulled. Murray and I both feel that this is not enough to declare him to be Patrick Crawley, but this is a significant piece of evidence. I thought it wise to give you a warning, as it's likely that this will continue to demand our attention in the future." He looked slowly around the room, from Edith's hopeful expression to the dowager countess's disgusted one, and finally his gaze fell on Matthew. "I'm sorry, my boy. After everything, to have the inheritance taken away from you . . ."

"It's all right," Matthew said. "I'll be all right." And he meant it. He appreciated the concern on the family's faces as they filed past him out of the room—he would never have believed, once upon a time, that the family at Downton would come to accept and care for him the way they had, and it warmed his heart to see even Cousin Violet looking sympathetically at him—but the fact was he'd survive, if this burned stranger turned out to be the true heir to Downton after all. He'd be sorry if that was the case; the more he got to know the estate and the tenants and the staff and the family, the more he'd come to embrace and appreciate his role as heir. But he'd carry on fine without it. He could continue his work as a solicitor and he had no doubt that Robert would continue to offer him and his mother use of Crawley House as long as the man was alive; perhaps Patrick Crawley, if indeed it was he, would continue to allow him to use it after Robert's death. Or he could get another house in the neighborhood or even return to Manchester. And he knew he'd always have the support and the love of the Downton family. That left only one part of his life unaccounted for, that part being the only person who hadn't left the room.

"Oh, Matthew," she breathed, looking up at him with concern etched all over her face. "We will fight this, you know. That man will have to prove beyond any doubt that he is Patrick Crawley before we give him Downton."

"I know, darling." He felt tired and weighed down by this development—what it meant for him, what it meant for _them_—but he appreciated the fiery determination under her soft words. It'd been some time since he'd needed her as his stick, to keep him standing, but she still supported him in every other way. But now the question was, would she want to continue to do so?

He hated that he had to have this conversation and he hated even more that she had moved closer to him on the sofa, taking his hands in her gloved ones; that could only make it harder for him to say what he needed to. But he said it. "But I think it prudent that we consider the possibility that Gordon will be declared to be the heir and prepare ourselves for it. I know you understand that this would change things between us."

"Change things?" she repeated, drawing back from him a bit even as she gripped his hands more tightly. "How can you—"

"Mary, I won't insult you by insinuating that you might consider throwing me over if I'm no longer the heir of Downton Abbey. I think you and I have been through too much together, grown up too much since then." He didn't have to tell her that he was referring to the horrible summer almost six years ago when they'd broken each other's hearts; he knew she was thinking of it just as much as he was. "But I worry that your decision to stay with me will be influenced by the wrong things—by some sense of obligation."

"Matthew, I wouldn't—"

"Please let me finish," he said, his gaze on the carpet that didn't stare back at him with tear-filled eyes. "When I proposed to you, I was offering you a certain life. I was making promises that I can no longer be sure I can keep. It was . . . an engagement made under false pretenses. And I couldn't bear to hold you to it if you felt in any way that being with me kept you from the life you wanted."

She had stopped protesting and was now watching him thoughtfully.

That gaze was driving him to distraction. Was she considering what he was saying? "The point is, if you wanted to end our engagement, I would understand. I would be grieved, but I would understand." He was rambling a bit now, because he was distracted with roundly cursing the sense of duty and honor that was forcing him to ask the girl he loved wildly if she wanted to end their relationship. But he had to let her know he would take it graciously. "It would be unfair of me to ask you to become the future Countess of Grantham, and then turn and force you to become Mrs. Crawley, solicitor's wife, instead. So if you want end our connection, I will understand. And I will take the blame, so it doesn't reflect badly on you. You know how people talk."

She had that look on her face that she got when she was deciding how to proceed. "Matthew," she said, "do you want to end our engagement?"

He couldn't lie, not to her, and especially not when she was looking at him like that. "No," he admitted in a whisper.

And she smiled, and the knot in his stomach started to untangle. "Dearest—" how he relished when she called him that— "do you think I learned nothing from those three horrible years I spent convinced that if you did survive the war, you would come home simply to marry another? Knowing myself to be separated from you forever with only myself to blame?"

It always affected him when she spoke of that time, of her regret and longing while he was away at war. How foolish he had been to have failed to see her devotion for what it was, to have mistaken it for the affection of a relative. Overcome, he looked down.

She continued speaking to the top of his head. "I threw you over once when I didn't know what I had. But now that I do understand you, and now that I finally have you, I could no sooner let you go than I could . . . cut off my own hand and cast it from me. I love _you_, Matthew Crawley, not the future Earl of Grantham. And if marrying you means spending the rest of my life as a country solicitor's wife, then I will do it, and gladly. I would marry you if you were a shopkeeper or a tailor or a pig farmer. I only care that I'm marrying _you_."

There was a pause while she waited for his response and he struggled to find the words to express his feelings. After a moment she went on matter-of-factly, "I do hope, though, that we shall be able to afford a cook, because if our meals rely on my cooking skills, we may go very hungry."

And then he was laughing, and there was nothing to do but gather her up in his arms and kiss her and thank God for blessing him with such a woman.

When they parted, she put her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "So we'll have no more talk of breaking our engagement?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Never again," he promised, and they unwound their arms from around each other and stood.

"I do feel compelled to tell you, though," Mary said as they headed for the door and the rest of the family, "if you were a pig farmer, I'd make your meals and wash your clothes, but I'd draw the line at helping you with the pigs. Just a bit of fair warning."

"Understood," he smiled. "Just as long as whatever comes, we face it together."

She took his hand in hers. "Always," she said, and hand in hand they left the library.

. . . . . .


End file.
